


Made to Be Broken

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kaulitz twins have new cars, and Bill invokes something Tom's never heard of – what is this "car rules" concept of which he speaks?  Whatever; Tom knows what to do with the rules.  This time, though, Bill might not let him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made to Be Broken

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out a little bit more angsty and involved than I intended, but I'm still fond of it and I hope steinsgrrl likes what I did with her prompt.
> 
> This is for a FQF prompt: Tom and Bill both have new Audis. Tom's the boss in his car, Bill's the boss in his. Car sex!

"Awesome. I've been waiting for ages for you to drive me somewhere besides crazy," Tom says, slipping into the passenger seat of Bill's Audi for the first time and buckling up.

"You are an asshole!" Bill cries, slapping at Tom's leg with one hand as he begins to steer the car up the drive. "Asshole. You can't badmouth me in my own car."

"Who says?" Tom counters breezily.

"Car rules," Bill tells him. He gives Tom a glance and a firm little nod before pulling into traffic. "Don't make me dump your ass to the curb. Now don't distract me, I am _driving_."

Tom laughs and settles into the seat. He tries to nap; the music is low enough that he could, and Bill still prefers to concentrate fiercely while he's behind the wheel. But because Bill is behind the wheel he's too tense, and therefore Tom is, and he can't relax enough to do more than drowse.

"Hey," Tom says, rousing a little as he sees a McDonald's sign while they tool down the street at Bill's moderate, grandma-worthy pace. "Let's stop at Mickey D's."

"No way," Bill replies. He flicks a prim glance at Tom, then focuses on the road again.

"Come on!" Tom protests at once. "Do you know how many times I picked up Mickey's for you in my Escalade?"

"Car rules," Bill says again. He passes the McDonald's without even giving Tom another look.

"That's bullshit," Tom says. "I've never even heard of that. Car rules? What does that even mean?"

"My car, my rules," Bill replies.

"You're just doing this to be a bitch," Tom accuses, and the afternoon goes downhill from there.

* * *

Two long, celibate days later Tom is slipping behind the wheel of his new Audi – which is sleek and sexy, compared to Bill's soccer mom wagon if he does say so himself – when Bill pops the door beside him and climbs in without so much as a by-your-leave.

"What are you doing?" Tom says without thinking.

Bill rolls his eyes. "Do I even have to answer that? You're driving us to the studio."

"You have your own car now," Tom points out, helpfully. He motions with his chin to the other Audi not even a meter away from them.

"I don't feel like driving," Bill says. He buckles in and examines his manicure, black with little white stars right now.

Tom stops himself with a force of will from asking whether Bill's nails are wet, or something. He doesn't really want to argue right now, and it seems like they've been arguing a lot this year. He thought it would get better once they got some down time – no touring, fewer engagements booked left and right – but if anything Bill's gotten even more wound up.

Cherrytree's pumping up of Tom's "night with Chantelle" certainly hasn't done Tom any favors. Apparently Tom and his rep are so amazing, now pics of him smiling over a few drinks at a bar constitute laying a girl.

"All right," Tom says, and most carefully does not sigh. "Don't get pissed at me when you want to leave early and I want to stay, though."

Bill gives him a scathing look. "I'm used to waiting on you," is all he says, and nothing makes Tom feel more immediately like shit.

"So take your own damned car," Tom snaps.

Bill shakes his head quickly, so fast that the cap on his head is partly dislodged. "That's not...I don't...you're missing the point, Tom!"

Now Tom sighs, and he starts the car. It's easier than spending the next half hour arguing over whatever fight they're having now; clearly Bill knows the score and Tom is in the dark.

Instead of asking what he did or didn't do this time – there's probably a laundry list, and the last thing Tom wants to do is get Bill started – Tom reaches over and turns on the stereo. His iPod is in the dock and his current favorite Samy D song booms through the confined space. Much better than a car fight.

"Damn it, Tom!" Bill exclaims, clearly still spoiling for one. "At least play something we both like!"

He reaches for the iPod and his thumb brushes the click wheel before Tom smacks it away.

"Don't touch that," Tom warns, in no mood.

"No way! Shotgun picks the music!" Bill says, pulling a scandalized face on Tom.

"My car, my rules," Tom retorts.

Bill narrows his eyes in a way that never bodes well for Tom, but he says nothing for now. He stays quiet for the rest of the ride, arms wrapped taut across his front, and stares through the front windscreen with his lips compressed.

Tom knows, based on that look, that even if he doesn't make a late night of it tonight, he doesn't need to bother contemplating the companionship of anything but his right hand.

* * *

Bill always has to be in control of everything, everywhere – unless they're in bed – and there are times that Tom gets sick of it. He used to complain jokingly about being Bill's chauffeur for all occasions, but he's starting to think he misses having a bit of the control, for once. It was only ever an illusion, really. Now it's late unto the point of very early and he's picking up Bill's twentieth call of the evening and he's going to give him what he wants, as always.

"When are you coming home?" Bill wants to know.

"Now," Tom says, turning his back to the hotel lobby and appearing to speak to a potted plant. "Will you come pick me up?"

"You drove," Bill says, suspicious.

"I can't drive home," is all Tom says.

A beat of silence is the only response for a moment, then Bill says, "I'll be there as soon as I can."

They arrange for Bill to pick him up at a side entrance so that hopefully the long-lensed paparazzi who's been stalking him all night won't get a shot of this. When Tom swings open the door, though, Bill begins shaking his head immediately.

"What?" Tom demands.

"You smell like cheap perfume," Bill says, wafting a hand in front of his face. "I don't want that smell in my car."

"Is this your stupid 'car rules' thing again?" Tom says incredulously. "You've got to be joking, Bill. What am I supposed to do?" 

Bill considers this for a moment. "Walk? Catch a cab? Strip?"

"I'm not stripping out here! Is this about...Bill, you know I didn't fuck her, right?"

Bill's mouth thins to an unforgiving line and he doesn't answer that. 

"I didn't fuck her," Tom repeats. "That was never part of the deal."

"So what did you do for two hours?" 

"We, uh...we just talked," Tom says awkwardly. "Drank a little; okay, a lot, which is why I can't drive. And talked. She put a movie on. Do you really want me to strip? It's not...safe."

"You can strip in the back, dumbass. We got the tinted windows for a reason, didn't we?"

"This is a set-up," Tom says, wary.

"Just get in the back and get rid of your clothes," Bill tells him, tapping his nails over the steering wheel. "I've got a hoodie back there you can throw on after you're stripped. Or you can go call a cab; whatever, Tom. Hurry up, I want to go home and sleep."

Misgiving is a writhing bag of eels squirming in his stomach as Tom gets into the backseat of Bill's Audi and begins to take his clothes off. He tosses his hoodie and outermost shirt into the cargo space at the rear and wonders if Bill will burn them, or if he'll be able to retrieve them later for laundering. Then he remembers there will be pictures; Bild will be all over the evidence of this night like flies on shit, and he feels like even more of a whore. Fuck it, he'll burn the clothes himself. He never wants to see them again. They'll remind him of the way Chantelle kissed like a gasping fish. The clinging powdery-floral miasma of her perfume suddenly makes him want to shower, to scour off the uppermost layer of his skin if that's what it takes, and he can see Bill's point.

"Don't say I never did anything for the band," Tom says, and looks up to meet his twin's eyes in the rearview mirror.

Bill makes a low noise in his throat as Tom begins to tug the next shirt off. "Slower," he says, his voice husky.

Tom lifts his hips as he wrestles with his shirt. His mouth is suddenly dry. "Really?" He's not mad anymore, not tired; Bill's eyes are on him like a physical caress and it's been *days* and if the only sex he wants is with his brother, it's the line he's never cared about crossing. They belong to each other. It only makes sense that they fit in that way, too.

"Yes, I want to see you." Bill clears his throat. "Strip for me, Tom."

Feeling awkward now like he hasn't in years, Tom tries to peel his shirt up in a way he hopes is kind of sexy, maybe even seductive as he reveals flashes of bare stomach. Before now he's only ever worried about getting clothes off as fast as possible. They have their foreplay in other ways. He can't remember the last time he pulled off his clothes like this with him and Bill in private and so much space between them.

He drops the shirt back down and rubs over his stomach with one hand, licking his lips. Bill's eyes are hot on him in the rearview mirror and suddenly Tom feels like he has the upper hand for the moment. His hand dips lower, pressing against the growing bulge in his jeans.

"Go on," Bill urges in a strained voice.

Tom grins and lifts his shirt again, riding it up to expose the taut muscles of his stomach. Bill's eyes aren't meeting his anymore, but they're definitely still on him. Tom trails a hand from the edge of his jeans, swirls a finger around his navel, then passes his hand up his stomach as he grips his shirt again, pushing it higher.

"Oh, I like that," Bill says, his voice pitched low, for Tom's ears only. It's his sex voice, the one reserved for locked bedrooms, and hearing it here and now has Tom wildly excited.

The shirt bunches up around his neck when he gets it off his arms and chest, and Tom leaves it there for a moment. He skims his hands over his tight pecs and tongues at his lip ring, imagining Bill's hands there instead of his own. He shivers a bit as unexpectedly, his nipples tighten under Bill's roving gaze.

Bill makes another small noise and suddenly Tom is too hot, he's stifling. He wrestles his shirt off over his head - there's no sexy way to do that unless you're Bill - and tosses it into the cargo hold behind him. All he wants to do is plunge a hand into his pants and go for it, wrap his stirring dick in demanding fingers and watch Bill watching him until he comes. Bill told him 'slower,' though, so he runs the tips of his fingers down his bare skin from collarbones to hips.

"Umf," Bill says from the front of the car, and everything lurches as his foot slips on the brake.

Tom wets his lips and tries not to grin. He teases open the first button of his jeans and watches Bill's eyes travel downward.

He's supposed to be stripping, but all Tom does is work his zipper open and shift his hips until baggy jean folds pool around his thighs. He sits there like that, legs spread, half-reclining, and plays one hand over the waistband of his boxers.

"More," Bill tells him hoarsely.

"Wouldn't you rather come back here and join me?" Tom asks cheekily, knowing Bill won't. He hasn't even shifted his Audi into park and they're at a deserted side entrance but it's still too risky.

"No," Bill demurs, as expected.

"Too bad," Tom says. He lifts his hips and rides down his boxers, freeing the rise of his swelling cock to smack against his belly.

Bill's pierced brow lifts; Tom has his eyes locked on Bill now as his breath gets ragged. He licks his palm and wraps moistened flesh around his cock, beginning to jack it slowly. He's not sure because it's dark but he thinks he can see high color riding Bill's cheekbones as his twin briefly ducks his head, then returns his determined gaze to Tom in the rearview mirror as though compelled to see this through.

Tom keeps his eyes on Bill's the whole time, even though his brother's gaze has strayed much lower. He pushes his dick against his palm, groans a little; tightens his grip and moves the foreskin back and forth, pumping himself steadily. Bill's low panting breaths are making a maddening harmony with his own increasingly unsteady exhalations. It's been too long - anything longer than a day is too long - and Tom's going to make himself come while Bill watches. The alcohol swirling in his system isn't enough to keep him from a release faster than he might like.

Watching Bill, thinking about his little brother's mouth and what it can do to him, Tom speeds up his pace. He sinks down in his seat and moans a little, jerking his cock rough and sloppy. He thinks about painting his twin's skin with his liquid hot release, or coming hard enough to hit the mirror Bill is using to watch him, and his balls tighten.

"Tom," Bill says after a long moment, then more urgently, " _Tom._ "

"What?" Tom rasps, hand not stilling for an instant.

"What are you doing?" Bill asks, and Tom thinks he's entered the Twilight Zone. As he gapes, Bill continues, "I told you to strip, not jerk off."

Tom stares at his brother's eyes dumbly. He's definitely drunk, the thought percolates up through the haze of lust and disbelief. But he's pretty sure he didn't misread Bill's expression in the mirror. All the while his hand continues to stroke and squeeze and he gasps as he realizes he's close.

"Don't come," Bill tells him.

"What? Are you kidding me?" Tom demands. "Car rules, _now?_ You did this to me, Bill!" He means that in every sense of the word.

"Don't come," Bill repeats, and Tom can tell from his tone that he's serious. "I don't want you getting it all over my new upholstery. I mean it, Tom."

Tom swears, puts his dick away, and pushes the heel of his palm against his very aching cock. 

"Fuck you," he says to Bill, grabbing his brother's hoodie from the seat beside him and shrugging into it, zippering it up. He's sprawling across the bench of the back seat, limbs loose and heavy, and he's pretty sure he can fall asleep right here.

"Get up here," Bill tells him.

"'mgonnasleep," Tom replies, trying to use his arm for a pillow. It smells like Bill, though, and that only makes him harder.

"Get _up_ here," Bill insists, his tone edging into the danger zone, the one that lets Tom know even the downstairs couch wouldn't be a safe bet; it would be the studio floor and a sleeping bag for him.

"Fine," Tom grumps, and relocates from the back seat to the passenger. "Can we go home now?"

"Oh, _now_ you want to go home," Bill sniffs, but the car is already gliding forward.

Tom sighs and adjusts his chair at an angle, leaning back. If he doesn't want a fight – and, thwarted erection aside, he does not – then the best thing to say is nothing at all.

"How long can we do this?" Bill says softly, as he steers them into traffic. "Tom? How long can we be together like this?"

"Forever," Tom replies stubbornly, folding his hands over Bill's hoodie. It's not really Bill's hoodie; it's one of Tom's, taken who knows long ago. Long enough for Tom to fade from it and be replaced by Bill, and it's wrapped around him now like comfort.

"Be serious," Bill says. "How long can I be 'looking for true love?'" He releases his death grip on the steering wheel to make air quotes, but he carefully doesn't look at Tom.

"Forever, Bill. Damn it," Tom says, starting to get irked. "Just like me." They've promised each other the rest of their lives, and he swore he'd jump through any hoop he needed to in order to make that happen. It's why he nurtures the man-whore rep, the one night stand rep, the notion that there are thousands of Chantelles out there; no one needs to know all she got was a kiss and a lot of alcohol, enough for Tom to proclaim he was too drunk to do her justice.

They stay quiet for a long time. Bill has already informed the general public that he and Tom will be together for the rest of their lives, because he was young and stupidly romantic and didn't look far enough into the future to see how that could become a problem. Particularly while he was still insisting that he's not gay, that twincest is an absurd fantasy. Tom doesn't care, though. He wants to make the rest of their lives a safe reality for Bill. Whatever problems they have, whatever shit he needs to shovel, he'll take care of it.

"I think I should tell people I'm asexual," Bill says thoughtfully. He's turning onto their street now.

"That's great," Tom says. "That's a great idea. Better than telling them you're Tom-sexual, right? Better than telling them you like dick."

"Well, I can never tell them I like your dick, can I, Tom?" Bill yells at him, instantly furious. "No matter how many times they ask, no matter how bad they want to know. It would ruin us, Tom! So what do you want me to do!?"

He pulls into their drive, shifts the car into park with a sudden jerky stop, and puts his hands over his face. What he says behind them sounds, softly, like he's saying 'you've ruined me.'

He knows Bill doesn't mean it; he's being melodramatic, again. But Tom hates hearing it and he doesn't want to fight, and if he stays, they will.

Tom climbs out of the car and slams the door behind himself, all but sprinting for the front door. The worst part is that he's still hard. He makes a beeline for the closest bathroom to make sure he isn't, by the time Bill comes through the front door by himself.

Tom sleeps alone that night, and he's not sure whose fault it is.

* * *

"I want to get a new piercing," Bill says, rubbing at Tom's leg as he plops down next to him on the couch. "Come on, will you take me?"

Tom tongues thoughtfully at his lip ring. "Where are you getting it?" he asks, instead of saying, _Oh, I'll take you, all right,_ and leering, which he knows Bill must be expecting.

"That shop where I got my--"

"No," Tom interrupts, reaching over to tap Bill's knee. "Where on your body?"

When Bill flashes that particular smile at him, Tom knows his brother was being coy on purpose. He peels open the front of his somewhat-sheer dress shirt to reveal one little pink nipple.

"You're getting them pierced?" Tom says, aghast. "Bill, that's..."

"Sexy," Bill fills in the blank with a tone that will brook no argument. "Come on, Tomi. You're so good at tonguing that ring of yours. Think what you could do with one right...here." He cups his hand to the flat pale line of his chest and pinches at the one nipple, making it perk before Tom's eyes.

Tom shudders and looks away. "That's dirty," he accuses. "And gay; that's really gay, Bill. Have you thought about this at all?"

Bill explodes up from the couch in a flurry of long limbs and wildly-swinging hair. "And whose fault is that, Tom? I'm only gay for you!"

Tom knows that in Bill-logic, it makes perfect sense somehow but all he can do is sigh as his twin stalks through the house. "Bill, all I'm saying is think about it..."

"I have!" Bill exclaims, coming to a stop in the middle of the living room. He swings around with a defiant look on his face. "It's my body, Tom. God. All I'm asking is for a ride to the shop; fuck, I won't even bother to ask you to hold my hand while it's done. Forget it, I'll ring Andi and ask him, instead."

"And Andi will hold your hand," Tom says, fighting to keep his voice even and failing.

"Yes," Bill replies. "Because he's not ashamed of me."

Tom clutches at his head. Bill never does fight fair. "Let me find my car keys." Before Bill can flash that brilliant, triumphant smile at him, Tom adds, "Also, you're a dick."

"Who's obsessed with dick?" Bill retorts sweetly, and he's off and moving in a flash of long legs before Tom can put together a response.

He drives Bill to the shop, and he does end up holding Bill's hand. They're brothers, so it's not weird; it's just that Tom gets a little self-conscious sometimes, and worries that his whole heart is scrawled across his face; more so with the reinforcement of even the most casual touches.

"You should get one, too," Bill whispers. His face is drawn and a little sweaty and it makes Tom want to take him right home and commit unspeakable things with him. To him. On him.

"No thanks," Tom replies, knowing that look in Bill's eye. The piercing Bill has in mind for him is one downstairs, and he's not going for that. Or maybe, not yet.

Bill pays and Tom gets his twin back to the parking lot and that's where Bill gets a little light-headed. He had that before, when he got the tongue piercing.

"Okay," Tom says, steering Bill to his Audi, cracking the back door and making Bill sit. "Put your head between your knees, it'll pass."

"Guh," Bill says, slumping over. He hisses and adjusts himself so that his chest won't touch his thighs.

"Want me to see if I can go find you some water?" Tom asks, rubbing Bill's shoulder with a light touch.

"No, I'm feeling better already," Bill insists. He pulls himself upright with a grimace, aims a watery smile at Tom, then collapses onto his back over the length of the backseat.

"Bill?" Tom exclaims, briefly alarmed. He can tell that his twin is in pain; hell, he's got a dull sympathetic ache in his own nipples. But he didn't think it was that bad.

Bill's eyes pop open and he tips his head, surveying Tom from beneath the veil of his lashes. "You wanna see?" he inquires in a throaty voice, pulling his flimsy shirt up enough to expose the low-riding star on his hip.

Tom looks over his shoulder. The parking lot is in the rear of the building and it's hemmed in by blind buildings - no windows facing them - and trees. "Pull your knees up," he tells Bill. Once Bill has folded himself into the car, Tom climbs into the backseat beside him, pulling the door shut and sitting on edge beside Bill's legs.

"No, no, someone will see," Bill protests, batting at Tom's hands as he begins to undo Bill's shirt.

"Tinted windows, remember?" Tom reminds him. "It's dark, and we're in the back. The angle would be wrong even if someone were on top of one of the buildings around us."

"All right," Bill gives in with a happy sigh, and he lays compliant as Tom opens his shirt and strokes his fingers over Bill's breastbone.

Tom is careful, so careful, as he peels back the bandages to get his second look. The first look wasn't the best, with the sight of the needle going through Bill's skin still fresh in his mind.

"You like?" Bill questions, his voice thick in his throat, and Tom recognizes that now's not the time for flippancy.

"Very sexy," he replies. He cups Bill's pectoral in one hand; bends and with the utmost care threads his tongue through the tiny silver ring. He's precise enough to avoid tugging as he flicks against Bill's nipple through the ring.

"O-ow," Bill complains, but his voice is uncertain. He hisses as the flesh tightens against Tom's gently-laving tongue.

"Hurts? Feels good?" Tom asks him, pressing a breath of a kiss over the rock-hard nipple and its adornment. He sits back, trailing a hand down Bill's bare chest and stomach and grips gently at the crotch of Bill's jeans, where he's growing hard.

"Mmm, both," Bill moans, knocking against Tom's shoulder with his knee.

"Hold still," Tom tells him as Bill squirms. "It's not like there's a lot of room, back here." He bends to lavish equally delicate care to Bill's other nipple, massaging the crotch of his jeans all the while.

Bill huffs. "And you make fun of me for my grandma car," he says, then closes his eyes and simply moans as Tom's palm settles into a rolling rhythm against him. "Oh...oh! Keep doing that."

Tom stretches up for a kiss and Bill's mouth is greedy against his.

"So good," Bill croons, as Tom bends his attention back to the tasty little nipples with their irresistible glint. "Can't wait...'til it's healed...uhh!...then you can, mmmn, tug on it harder."

Tom isn't surprised that Bill is enjoying it, the hedonist; he's more surprised at his own strong response. He wants to climb right onto Bill, crawl atop and right inside him, even here in public; something they've sworn never to do, ever.

"Bill," he says, his mouth hovering over that small, maddening ring.

"Fuck me," Bill says, or moans, putting his head to the side and lifting his butt to push his groin against Tom's hand. He worms a hand beneath Tom's fingers and undoes the top button of his jeans. His other hand goes into the braids at the base of Tom's neck and he tugs a fistful.

Tom dabbles his tongue against Bill's left nipple, making a face and pulling back when he tastes metal. "Hold that thought," he tells Bill, and strokes his twin roughly through his jeans. He sits up and exits the backseat.

He adjusts himself with a wince as he comes around the side of the car. He's been used to functioning with an erection around Bill for going on six years now, though, so he slides behind the wheel without a second thought.

"Tom?" Bill sounds plaintive and horny. "You're getting lube, right?"

Tom starts the car. "I'm not fucking you in the backseat of my brand-new Audi, Bill; come on," he replies. "So can you hold that thought until we get home?"

A heavy boot thumps against the back of Tom's seat.

"Bill," Tom says, warning. Tom is already way more protective of his Audi than he was with his Escalade. "Car rules."

"Fuck your car rules," Bill retorts, sulky. A thump judders the back of Tom's seat again.

"If you kick my seat like that again, you're goddamn well walking home," Tom warns. "I mean it, Bill."

"I'm going to get you for this," Bill says vengefully.

"You started it," Tom points out. "With your damned car rules this, car rules that."

Bill lets out a little scream of frustration, but he sits up and buckles in. He doesn't kick the back of the seat. He keeps his shirt open, though, and rubs a hand against the front of his jeans until Tom thinks he's going to combust or run right off the road.

* * *

They're on their way back to the car after dinner with Mom and Gordon and the big news: after living together for so long, Simone and Gordon are finally getting married.

"We're never going to get married," Bill says, sounding wistful about it, and this time Tom knows just what to say.

"We already are," Tom avers.

Bill clutches at the elbow of Tom's jacket to bring him to a halt, and stares at him. "Tom?"

"Come on, Bill." He breaks into a little smile. "We've got the same last name, we live together, we're responsible for each others' well-being, we're definitely--" Tom looks around the deserted garage and lowers his voice anyhow "—having sexual relations, and we're going to be together until death parts us."

"Married," Bill says, with an inscrutable look on his face.

Tom shrugs and heads for the passenger door of Bill's Audi.

Bill's hand on his arm stops him. "Get in the back," he says, in the tone that won't take no for an answer.

Tom glances around the empty garage again, his tongue poking out to tongue nervously at his lip ring. "Uh, what?"

"I want to suck your cock," Bill tells him, and the look on his face is more scary than seductive, it's so determined, but it goes straight to Tom's groin anyhow.

"No one knows we're here, right...?" Tom begins, and Bill makes an impatient noise, clamping a hand around Tom's wrist and dragging him toward the car.

"No one knows; Mom and Gordon left, like, an hour ago, and this is VIP parking so no one can get up to this level," Bill replies, opening the back door and giving Tom a small, winsome smile over his shoulder.

"This is a bad idea," Tom groans, already knowing he's not going to say no. He watches with interest as Bill climbs into the back and lets the partition down, creating one large cargo space big enough for the both of them. He spreads a patterned blanket out, crawls in back, and beckons. "Holy shit, you planned this."

"No," Bill denies at once, though his lips are curling upward. "Maybe. Planning for eventualities."

Tom climbs into the backseat, fixated already by the way Bill is licking his lips. "How can you look so sexy and so innocent at the same time?" he asks idly.

"Years of acting like I'm not getting boned by my brother while functioning as a sex symbol for the fans," Bill replies, settling on his side. He opens his mouth and puts his piercing on display, briefly. "Come on, Tomi; this could be a one-time offer. Whip it out and give it to me."

Fuck it, Tom decides, casting one last hunted glance around the deserted garage and climbing into the backseat. He shuts the door behind him and Bill's on him like a steel trap, slung over his thighs and pushing his face against Tom's groin.

"Come on, come on, give it to me," he mumbles, nosing at Tom's cock unerringly through his jeans and rubbing against where the ridge of it is already snaking its way upward as though making a break for Bill.

Tom unbuttons and unzips his fly with shaking hands. His cock is waiting, hot and stirring, at the slit of his boxers and he pushes it out and through and eases it into Bill's open, waiting mouth in one movement. He groans as Bill's tongue circles once, twice, pushing down foreskin to lap at the head of his cock.

Bill's mouth works over him like warm, lush silk, sucking the head of his cock. His tongue stud presses at the tip where Tom is leaking pre-come, dragging across with just the right amount of pressure. He goes down, and down, and Tom is biting his lip and trying not to moan loud enough to get the cops called on them. Bill is trying to suck the marrow right out of him.

He sucks at Tom's cock with such vigor, for so long, Tom starts to forget where they are. Tom sprawls back to get into a more comfortable pose and knocks his head against glass.

"Shit," he yelps.

Bill pops off his cock with a sinfully lip-smacking wet noise, looking inquiring. "You okay?" he seeks confirmation, mouth already open to descend on Tom once more. One of his hands has burrowed up the leg of Tom's boxers and he's stroking Tom's balls.

"Uhh...uh-huh." It takes Tom a minute. "Wait, is this a trap? Did you get me all worked up just to pull car rules on me again and tell me I can't come?"

Bill manages to look offended while tonguing the head of Tom's dick. He opens his lips just enough to take the head in and rolls them down while he presses his tongue stud over the slit in a quick swipe.

"Oh, God," Tom moans. "Don't do this to me if you're not going to let me come." His little brother has to be the world's champion cocksucker; something the world will never know.

"Poor Tomi, have I been a bitch?" Bill says sweetly. "You can come, as long as you come inside me."

"I dunno, maybe I'd rather come _on_ you," Tom replies, reaching down and taking hold of his cock, rubbing the head against Bill's lips. It's been a _very_ long time since Bill has let Tom come on his face, and that probably has something to do with Tom's regrettably poor aim that one time.

"I don't like getting come in my eye," Bill sniffs.

"That was _one time_ ," Tom groans.

"And I'll never let you forget about it," Bill tells him. He opens his mouth, drawing his tongue wetly along the tip of Tom's dick before hovering for a moment, doing nothing more than breathing on it. With a happy little noise he sucks it back into his mouth and works himself down, breath curling through his nose over Tom's shaft, and he swallows when the head presses against the back of his throat.

"Oh hell yes, oh Bill, damn it, you're so good," Tom babbles, while Bill keeps up steady pressure back and forth. "Whatever you want, oh God, I'll do whatever you want as long as I get to come."

Bill's lips are stretched out around Tom's cock, but there's the impression of a smile nonetheless.

Tom pets at his brother's hair and lapses back in bliss as Bill keeps up those amazing back-and-forth motions for long enough he'll surely complain of jaw ache tomorrow.

He pulls off as Tom's balls begin to tighten. He's got such an intimate grip on them, he can hardly miss that little detail. Tom makes a loud noise of complaint before he's presented with an armful of flushed, mussed twin. Still licking his lips, Bill rubs noses with Tom and grinds against him.

"Do it to me; come on, do me," Bill whispers against the corner of Tom's mouth, and Tom groans and pets up his brother's slinky spine. "I want it, I want you to."

Tom strips Bill down, not quite believing that this is on until he gets Bill out of his underwear and tumbled back against the blanket.

"What if someone knocks on the window, catches us?" Tom asks, suddenly frozen. It's almost enough to make his boner shrivel up, but Bill has one hand on it and is drawing on it like he's going to connect it to his mouth again.

Mouth open, Bill looks up at him with an absolute vacancy of thought for a moment before reason flickers on again. "Oh. Oh! I've planned for that."

"Do tell," Tom says, gesturing to Bill's naked length and his own very obvious hard-on.

"You're going to keep most of your clothes on; if someone knocks, you'll toss the blanket over me and tell whoever it is to fuck off, you've gotten a groupie into your twin's car while I'm off to have a smoke," Bill says. He manages to look both smug and desperate.

"We really are going to have sex," Tom says with awe.

"Yes, please," Bill says demurely, curling around him and getting his mouth on Tom's cock again.

"Fuck!" is Tom's only response for that. He's on his knees over Bill and his head is rubbing the ceiling and all he can think is how good Bill's hot, wet mouth is, licking and sucking, lapping and swirling. He strokes Bill's hair and groans deep.

Bill is naked, working Tom's cock for all he's worth, while Tom is wearing pretty much everything he's had on all night, even if his jeans are around his thighs. Bill's in a submissive position; he's tonguing Tom's cock like he can't get enough of it, but Tom knows that if Bill told him to do just about anything right now before he'd finish blowing him, Tom would.

"Please, can't I..." Tom begins, trying to get a hand on his cock, putting his other on Bill's jaw to tilt Bill's head up.

With a muffled noise of protest, Bill lets Tom's cock slip from his mouth. "What?"

Instead of answering, Tom rubs his dick against Bill's beautiful, flushed face, starting to jack it slowly.

"No, don't you dare!" Bill says indignantly. He reaches into Tom's boxers and pinches near the femoral artery, making him yelp.

"But...come on, Bill," Tom wheedles. "I'll suck yours...I'll let you finger me." That last is a desperate add-on, and makes Bill widen his eyes.

"I want you to come in me," Bill protests, getting up on his knees and writhing up against him. "Inside, Tomi, want you to put it in me and come without pulling out."

"Why should I?" Tom asks, fascinated. He strokes his hands down Bill's naked back and caresses down into the cleft. Parting his small but perfectly-formed buttcheeks with one hand, he prods against Bill's hole with a finger, thumbs it, spreads him open a little. He's starting to change his mind already. He can never resist that tight, rosy little bud.

Tom eases them down until they're lying on the blanket, bodies pressed flush together. With one hand he fingers Bill's hole, rubbing at the radiant heat of it. With the other, he tweaks Bill's nipple ring and makes him groan.

Bill tosses his head, dreadlocks spilling over the back seat. "My car, my rules," he says throatily. "Come on, before I change my mind about the two of us fucking the new car smell out of here."

"I'm sold," Tom says breathlessly.

"Good, I was getting scared I'd have to roll you over and rape you," Bill says with a snort, rolling his eyes.

"Can you even...do that?" Tom inquires, fascinated in spite of himself. "Like, how would that work? I mean, you'd be on top, but..."

"It's a joke, you idiot. You can't rape the willing," Bill replies. "Unless..." He sneaks a hand around Tom and grabs the seat of his jeans.

Tom lets out a decidedly unmanly yawp and Bill snickers at him, then they're kissing.

Bill tongues at his lip the way he was going at his cock, for a moment, before melting into the kiss and sucking Tom's tongue into his mouth. They neck and grope for a decidedly pleasurable microcosm of eternity before Tom decides that's enough; he's getting in there. He presses his finger against Bill until his twin is squirming, biting his lip in protest.

"You planned this so well; where's the lube?" he asks.

"Oh my God," Bill says, in a shocked tone. "Where _is_ the lube?"

If Bill wasn't grinding a very hard erection against Tom's lower stomach, Tom would be more concerned. "The faster you give it to me, the faster I can give it to you," he grits, fingering Bill until he squeaks. He's got the tips of two dry fingers into him and he's pretty sure that Bill could take a little more if he was in a rough mood.

"Unless you want to try going at it spit-only, again," Tom says, but only as a measure of his urgency.

"Okay, okay." Bill fumbles around past his discarded clothes for his man-purse. As he gets up, dislodging Tom's fingers and making him grunt while he leans over him, the glint at his nipple swings in Tom's direction.

Tom grabs Bill's hips and goes for it, stretching up to run his tongue over the swaying little hoop.

"Oh...ohh," Bill moans, suddenly riveted in place.

Tom sticks his tongue through it expertly and tugs, sucking the whole thing into his mouth and clamping softly around Bill's nipple, then releasing everything but the ring and fretting it with his tongue. At the apex of every stroke, the tip of his tongue flicks against Bill's nipple.

"Oh my God," Bill cries, rubbing himself against Tom's stomach. "When we get home you are doing that for, like, an hour."

"Only if I can come on your face," Tom bargains. "I'll be so careful, Bill. Just your mouth and chin. Maybe cheeks too."

"Get _off_ that subject," Bill says, sounding annoyed and reaching down to tug at Tom's ear. "Seriously, it's not sexy at all."

Tom grins, takes the ring in his teeth and tugs a bit, just enough to make Bill keen and arch his back, and he gives the pebbled-hard nipple another swipe of his tongue before lapsing back against the blanket.

"Lube," Bill mumbles, pressing it into Tom's hand and sprawling onto the blanket beside him, looking debauched already.

Tom is careful to stretch Bill without taking too much time about it. He pushes enough fingers in Bill to make him writhe, tossing his head, his mouth open as he tries to hold back the soft anxious noises that tell Tom how much he's into it. He finds Bill's prostate and lingers against it, rubbing the callous of his middle finger just so against it until Bill is biting his lip and telling him to fucking get on with it.

For a moment he can't decide how he wants Bill: face up and legs over Tom's shoulders, or ass up so they can go faster, come harder and a little easier for Bill.

"Tomi," Bill whispers, rolling onto his back and lifting his legs, presenting himself.

"Fuck," Tom grunts, grabbing his cock. He has to squeeze it for a moment, kneeling there above his little brother, telling himself very firmly not to come all over Bill's groin and prettily-displayed hole. He has to breathe in and out, look at the ceiling, eye the far corner of the patterned blanket. Then he looks down at Bill, spread out and ready before him, and he can't make either of them wait any longer.

"Please," Bill says, biting his lip, splayed out before him and looking so needy and vulnerable and ready for him. "In me, Tom, I need to feel you."

Tom's cock is so red and hard, sensitive where he presses it against Bill. He pushes it in and lurches over Bill, joining their bodies hard and fast. Bill cries out and his arms go around Tom. Their faces are close, their cheeks rub and they're already rutting against each other before Tom is fully seated.

"'S good," Bill manages. "Oh, so good. Fuck me, Tomi; harder, it's okay."

Tom takes him at his word. He rides Bill up into a better angle and screws into him with deep, hard thrusts. They're both dripping sweat now but Bill looks so goddamned pretty while he's doing it, arching his back and clinging to Tom's neck and making a series of faces that are pleasured and pained, each more beautiful than the last. If Tom looks half so hot, he figures he's doing okay.

He stretches to kiss Bill in the middle of it, his rhythm disintegrating into slow but vigorous rolls of his hips. Bill moans against his tongue and reaches down to grab Tom's ass through his jeans, pulling him deeper.

"I don't know...how much longer..." Tom begins, and his voice unravels. He pumps into Bill and loses everything; his sense of self, the boundaries between them, the lines that blur and rules that they were always meant to break for each other.

"Forever," Bill vows, his voice breathy. He lays a kiss on Tom with a hint of tongue and they both cry out as they start to come, moving a little faster for a moment then spending the last stretch in slow, leisurely rocks together. "For the rest of our lives."

They stay like that, wrapped around each other, until Bill puts an elbow in Tom's side and whispers almost regretfully in Tom's ear that his legs are cramping. Tom shifts, pulls out, and they lie together on the blanket, side by side with knees tucked up. Bill's right knee presses against Tom's left. Tom wipes at Bill's belly, then his own messed-up shirt, with a fold of the blanket.

"I like married sex," Bill says, lolling against him.

Tom starts to laugh. He almost asks, have we ever had any other kind, but he knows that might start a fight. They've had their off and on times, although the composition of "In Die Nacht" pretty much sealed the deal for both of them. It doesn't mean they don't fight, or hurt each other. So do most married couples, Tom is pretty sure.

"Yeah, me too," he says at last. "My new goal is to get as much of it as possible."

Bill arches a knowing brow. "That's always your goal. Better stock up, Tomi; you'll be on short rations when we start touring again."

"I know," Tom says, wistful. So many things he misses about home, dogs included; but the most important as always is his privacy with Bill.

"Oh my God, oh my God," Bill moans, rolling his head against Tom in a way that crushes his bicep and part of his chest below the fall of his black and silver dreadlocks.

"What?" Tom demands, suddenly alarmed by the genuine woe in Bill's tone.

"I'm going to have to get it detailed," Bill says pitifully.

"Huh?" Tom says, now quite disconnected from whatever conversation he thought they were having.

"My car! Ugh, we got it _everywhere._ "

Tom looks at the stains on the blanket. The damage is pretty well-contained, as far as he's concerned, though it probably smells like sex in the backseat. "Everywhere? Did I miss something?"

"Yes, but you won't during round two," Bill whispers, and tugs him close with a couple of fingers wrapping into one of Tom's braids.

Bill sets the bar high, so Tom strives to meet it.

"Everywhere it is, then," Tom says with an impish grin before their lips meet again.


End file.
